Legacy Of The Lost
by ZiggySTARDIS
Summary: When the TARDIS is forced to land on a remote moon, the Doctor and Clara take shelter in an old house with a terrifying secret. Short story.
1. Chapter 1

The TARDIS's engines echoed across the heath, almost completely lost in the howling winds that constantly battered the land. When the ship had settled, and solidified itself, the door opened and Clara Oswald stepped out onto the grass. She instantly pulled her jacket tightly around herself, screwing up her face as the wind bit at it.

'Doctor?' she shouted back through the still open door of the TARDIS. 'You've done it again!'

'Done what?' the Doctor called back, sticking his own head out through the doors. 'What's wrong?'

'This isn't London! This is... I don't know where this is.'

The Doctor stepped fully out of the TARDIS and closed the door, pulling his collar up against the wind. 'So? If ask me, it's an improvement.'

'But you're supposed to be taking me home!' Clara raised her voice again as another gust of wind swept past. 'I suppose I could get a train... If I knew where we were.'

'I doubt that's possible,' said the Doctor, pointing to the sky. 'Look.'

Clara turned her own gaze to the heavens - even after all she'd seen with the Doctor, this was something else. They obviously weren't on Earth - a giant nebula was spread across the sky, angry-crimson strands twisting across the stars.

'That's amazing!' Clara exclaimed, hardly able to take her eyes off it. 'How close is it?'

'I think we must be right on the edge,' the Doctor replied. 'Most ships wouldn't make it this close without heavy shielding - their sensors would scramble, and they'd probably crash on this moon.'

'Is the TARDIS alright?' Clara asked. 'I mean, we'll be able to leave again, won't we?'

'The TARDIS is far more advanced than anything that might be troubled by this nebula,' the Doctor replied. 'She'll be fine - but we might not be, this storm's picking up. We'd better find shelter.'

'We could just get back in the TARDIS,' Clara pointed out.

'That's cheating!' the Doctor replied. 'Come on, let's have a look around.'

They set off along the heath, walking perpendicular to the wind. It was rather difficult going - every time a particularly strong gust of wind blew past, they had to stop and brace themselves to stay on their feet. An irritating rain began to pelt them, adding to their discomfort.

'Doctor, look!' Clara shouted after about ten minutes of walking. 'Is that a house?'

It was, although it looked as though it had seen better days. It was a manor-style house, with an exterior of chipped plaster and peeling paint. A rusting fence gave the house a perimeter, and even though the gate was locked shut with a large padlock, it snapped open when the Doctor applied a little force to it. They quickly walked up the front steps, and the Doctor knocked on the door several times.

'Let's just hope someone's home,' he muttered. They didn't have to wait long - a minute passed by and the door opened. An old man was on the other side, looking at the Doctor and Clara with some surprise.

'Good lord!' he exclaimed. 'I wasn't expecting... I mean, I didn't think anyone could...'

'I don't mean any offence, but by the time you manage to finish one of those sentences, my friend and I will have frozen to death,' said the Doctor. 'Could we come in?'

'Of course, of course!' the old man exclaimed, standing aside to let the Doctor and Clara up into the house. They didn't waste any time, and entered - the old man shut the door behind them, turning a large key in the lock before engaging several thick bolts. He dropped the key into his coat pocket, before turning back to the Doctor and Clara.

'Thanks for sheltering us,' said Clara. 'And sorry about the Doctor, he can be a bit abrasive, but he means well.'

'Not at all, my dear,' said the old man. 'It doesn't bother me in the slightest - I'm just delighted to see people. I've been alone here for so long...'

'You crashed here, presumably,' said the Doctor.

'A very long time ago,' the old man nodded. 'The nebula interfered with our ship's navigation systems - it's a miracle that any of us survived the crash.'

'Us?' said the Doctor. 'But you said you were alone just now. Who else was with you?'

'Ah, my family - once we were many in number, but sadly I am all that remains,' said the old man. 'But I've been terribly rude - I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Carson.'

'I'm Clara, and this is the Doctor.'

'Wonderful!' Carson exclaimed, his face beaming into a smile. 'Please, come this way - I'll make a pot of tea and we can have a chat.'

He turned, and disappeared through a door at the side of the entrance hall. Clara began to follow him, but stopped when she realised that the Doctor was still standing by the door. He was looking up at a painting on the wall, of what appeared to be a Christmas tree standing outside a large palace.

'Doctor, what's wrong?' Clara asked. It was a few seconds before the Doctor reacted - he snapped out of his reverie instantly, throwing a wide, slightly unnerving smile on.

'Nothing,' he said. 'I just thought that painting looked familiar.'

Then he followed Carson through the door, leaving Clara alone in the entrance hall. She looked up at the painting, studying it more closely. The tree looked somewhat dilapidated and sad, while the palace behind was brightly lit. There was seemingly something wrong with the painting, but it was a few seconds before Clara realised what that was - both the palace and tree seemed to be indoors. The painter had rendered a cavern roof above the palace, and Clara wondered why.

Then she heard the Doctor and Carson talking in the next room, and she hurried to join them.

* * *

The door led through to an expansive drawing room - Carson had drawn a few chairs up around the fireplace, which had been recently lit. Then he'd disappeared through another side door before returning with a tray laden with cups and a teapot. He filled the cups with tea before handing one each to the Doctor and Clara.

'This is quite a big house for one person,' said the Doctor, taking a sip of tea.

'Yes, although as I said before, I wasn't always alone,' said Carson. 'Indeed, my relatives were once quite numerous - in my family's heyday, you could hardly move in this house for all the brothers and sisters, cousins and suchlike. But not anymore.'

'What happened to them?' the Doctor asked.

'Doctor...' Clara shot him a warning look – since Carson was along in the house, this could potentially be a painful subject for their host.

'Oh, it's alright my dear. Really, I'm grateful for the conversation,' Carson chuckled. 'It was simply time that claimed my family. Nothing lasts forever.'

'Is that them?' Clara asked, pointing to the mantelpiece above the fireplace, where a series of weathered-looking photographs sat in decaying silver frames. She stood up and approached the pictures, looking at each one in turn. Her eyes lingered on one of a young woman in a nurse's uniform - she appeared to be standing outside the palace from the painting in the entrance hall, only this time there was no Christmas tree at its front. Carson noticed this and smiled.

'My sister, Ingrid,' he said. 'That was the first day of her job - she only had one job before we had to leave home, sadly. We were all so proud of her.'

'Why did you have to leave home?' Clara asked.

'Our planet was unstable,' said Carson. 'Everyone was leaving - our family was rather better off than most, so we could afford our own transport off-world. Our planet's scientists had found our people another world, far away across the stars. We were hoping to travel to it, but the nebula trounced our ambitions, and we crashed here. With no way to leave this moon, we were stranded and had to make our life here.'

'I'm sorry, you must have been devastated,' said Clara, returning to her chair.

'Oh, it's been perfectly fine,' said Carson. 'It was difficult in the beginning, but over time we came to appreciate the simpler life that we could live here. Admittedly the storms can get rather ferocious, but that's simply part and parcel of living next door to a nebula.'

'And now it's just you, on your own?' the Doctor asked. Carson smiled sadly.

'Just so, I'm afraid,' he said. 'It is rather sad, I know but that can't be helped. That's why I was so surprised to see you earlier - I haven't seen another living soul in years. And now that you're here - I suppose I'll have to get used to the company again.'

'Excuse me?' The Doctor raised an eyebrow.

'Well, you must have crashed here as well,' said Carson. 'No ship could survive the landing, not in this storm or this close to the nebula.'

'Our ship is in perfect working order,' said the Doctor. 'And as soon as the storm dies down, we'll be on our way again.'

'Really?' Carson wore an expression of surprise before he smiled again. 'Well, that's jolly good.'

'You could come with us,' said Clara, drawing a quizzical look from the Doctor. 'I mean, we could take you to that other planet, the one all of your people were trying to reach.'

Carson chuckled and shook his head. 'You're very kind, my dear - but I've spent most of my life here, and this is my home. I'm sure that I can't have many years left and I should like to spend them in familiar surroundings. I'm much too old to go galivanting off to far-away worlds. Anyway, it's getting late. There are bedrooms upstairs, I'll show you up to them - you may use them for as long as you wish. You're my guests, and I'm very glad to have you here.'

* * *

 ** _A/N:_ I hope you're enjoying the story so far, please leave a review and follow! It's been ages since I've last written, and I'm quite proud of this new short story. I'll be posting a new chapter tomorrow (Tuesday 21st November), and the third and final one will be out on Wednesday 22nd November.**


	2. Chapter 2

Carson brought the Doctor and Clara upstairs and into a long corridor lined with doors, behind each of which was a bedroom. He directed the pair to two rooms beside each other before bidding them goodnight. Clara's room was spacious, although everything in it was rather aged, much like the rest of the house. The tall windows might have usually afforded an expansive view of the heath outside, but the panes were being pelted by the ever-strengthening rain, making them impossible to see through.

Clara sat down on the edge of the four-poster, taking stock of her surroundings. She wasn't entirely thrilled to be spending the night in the old house – there was something about it that unnerved her - but she reminded herself that she was probably over-imagining things and that she was perfectly safe. Besides, Carson seemed nice enough, and if anything were to happen, the Doctor was only one room down the corridor.

She lay back on the bed and closed her eyes, only now realising how tired she was. It wasn't long before she fell asleep.

* * *

The Doctor opened his room's door and stepped out into the hallway. He quickly looked left and right before closing the door again quietly and setting off down the hallway in the direction of the staircase.

* * *

Clara's eyes snapped open suddenly - she wasn't entirely sure what had woken her up, but there had definitely been some noise. She sat up quickly, her heart hammering in her chest and adrenaline coursing through her veins. She looked around the room frantically, unnerved by the unfamiliar surroundings and the darkness. The bedroom was shrouded in shadows, and Clara blinked several times in an effort to adjust her vision to the darkness.

She wracked her brain, trying to remember what the room had looked like, where things had been sitting when she'd gone to sleep earlier. She looked around carefully, trying to spot anything amiss, but without light, all she saw was a series of dark shapes and shadows.

She waited, listening and watching attentively for anymore sounds, or a movement. She detected nothing, however and then relaxed.

Then one of the shadows moved.

Clara lashed out with her foot, feeling her boot connect with something soft. There was an inhuman shriek, and the sound of feet running on carpet before a door was slammed. Clara remembered there was a lamp on her bedside table, and she fumbled around in the dark for a few moments as she searched for the switch. The bulb flared into life and Clara spun around, but the bedroom was deserted.

Clara looked around, checking beneath the bed and behind the curtains, but she was certain that there was nobody else in the room with her now. She'd heard a door slamming, but it sounded somewhat insubstantial, and not at all like the sound she imagined the bedroom's hefty main door would make if someone were to slam it shut quickly. And there were no other doors in the room, except...

A wardrobe stood against one wall, pressed right against the wallpaper. Clara opened its doors, and found the cabinet empty. There were no clothes, just a few wire coat-hangers. There was nowhere that a person could have gone.

A thought struck Clara - she reached out and pressed against her hand the back of the wardrobe. The wood was solid, but as Clara applied more pressure, she felt it start to give. She pushed her full weight against the panel and finally it opened, swinging backwards and causing Clara to lose her balance briefly.

A narrow staircase was leading down, bare stone steps descending into darkness. Clara thought for a moment, wondering if she should go and fetch the Doctor before pursuing her would-be assailant. Then she heard the sound of receding footsteps below and realised that there wasn't enough time for that, and she set off down the steps.

The light from her bedroom quickly faded away, leaving Clara in pitch darkness. She began to descend, cautiously feeling for the next step. Her progress was slow, and hampered by the darkness - at one point she seemed to reach a dead end, only to discover that she had in fact reached a turning point in the stairwell and the steps were now descending in the opposite direction.

Eventually Clara reached the bottom of the staircase, and found herself emerging into a dimly lit corridor. She screwed her nose up - the air was filled with a strong smell of antiseptic, sharp and overpowering. The corridor was lined with doors - Clara opened one and found herself looking into a cupboard filled with medical supplies. The shelves were piled high with sealed plastic punches containing syringes, scalpels and other surgical equipment.

Clara closed the cupboard before moving onto the next door. It was another cupboard, except this time the shelves were filled with mechanical components - microchips, plastic tubing, and other things that Clara couldn't even begin to guess at. She closed this cupboard, and moved further on down the corridor.

One of the doors ahead was open, a harsh, bright light coming from within. Clara looked inside - this room seemed to be an operating room. A surgical table stood beneath a giant array of bulbs - the source of the light she'd seen in the corridor - and was surrounded by trolleys already set out with surgical tools and chemicals.

Clara went inside, feeling uneasy. There was something wrong about all of this – for what possible reason could Carson's family have built an operating theatre beneath their home? And who had attacked her? Carson had told them that he was the house's only occupant...

There was a sound from outside - Clara spun, expecting someone to standing in the doorway of the operating room. Thankfully the door remained empty, but the noise continued, a sort of clinking sound - and another noise, muffled and indistinct.

Clara went back into the corridor, listening intently - the noises seemed to be coming from a room just a little way down the corridor. She went over and opened the door, before going inside.

* * *

The Doctor had been all over the house - it was a maze of corridors and disused rooms filled with ageing furniture and dust sheets. He had briefly thought about waking Clara, but decided that he'd rather make his suspicions a bit more concrete before fetching her.

He eventually wound up back in the main entrance hall, where they had first met Carson. His attention was immediately drawn back to the painting of the palace, with the Christmas tree in front. There was something about it, something familiar that he was missing, or forgetting - where had he seen it before? He'd been travelling through time and space for two thousand years, maybe more - sometimes his memories began to cloud themselves. He never lost them entirely, but some would always elude him more than others.

'Doctor?' Carson was coming down the stairs, looking at the Doctor with some surprise. 'I hadn't expected you to still be up - is something the matter? Can I get you anything?'

'No, but you could answer a question or two about this painting for me,' the Doctor replied, gesturing up at the framed canvas.

'Ah, the Palace - it's a beautiful painting, isn't it?' Carson smiled up at the painting sadly. 'My late father was quite talented - and he had an eye for this sort of thing. He tried his very best to pass on some of that talent to me, but I was never that much of a student.'

'This palace, where was it?' the Doctor asked.

'It was at the centre of our capital city,' Carson explained. 'And the Holiday Tree in front - it was always a magical time of the year. You see the baubles, tinsel and star? They all tell a story, I'm I have it written down somewhere...'

'And this city - what planet was it on?' the Doctor asked - an image flashed through his head, just fleetingly - a frozen atmosphere spiralling down from a hole in the roof of the world, engulfing a forgotten city.

'Oh, its long gone now, I expect,' said Carson, an undertone of sadness infecting his voice. 'And I don't imagine you would ever have heard of it.'

'Try me,' said the Doctor. 'The planet - what was its name?'

'Well,' said Carson, frowning, 'before it was lost to the nebula, its name was Mondas.'

* * *

Clara tried to focus - the room was in darkness, although there was a window running along the top of the opposite wall which allowed a little moonlight in, just enough to see by. The room was bisected by a row of metal bars - apparently this was a cell. A figure was crouched in the shadows below the window, it's arms shaking slightly - this explained the clinking noise. Chains wrapped around the bars trailed across the floor to the figure, apparently bound to its wrists with thick iron manacles. The other noise also quickly became apparent - the figure was moaning: low guttural groans of pain.

'Hello?' Clara asked, approaching the cage and crouching down to the figure's level. 'Can you hear me? My name's Clara - what happened to you?'

The figure stopped moaning and raised its head, the movement barely visible in the darkness - Clara couldn't make out any features of their face at all. They didn't reply, but simply stayed slumped against the wall, staring at Clara.

'What's your name?' Clara asked, moving closer to the bars, trying to make out some detail of the person in the cage. 'Come closer to the bars, let me see you.'

The figure began to shuffle forward, slowly coming into the moonlight. It took several seconds for Clara to realise exactly what she was looking at, but it was unmistakable. The person in the cage was a Cyberman, one that was much more primitive than those she had previously encountered. It had no mask of metal, just a tight cloth hood pinned on by the over-large jug-like handles on its helmet, and it's silver jumpsuit was covered in dirt and grime. The bulbs and valves in its chest unit flickered faintly, and two massive black eyes stared morosely through the bars.

Clara began to edge back towards the door, her heart racing. The Cyberman was completely still and silent, watching her intently. She had to get back upstairs, find the Doctor and tell him what she'd found.

She was about to turn to the door when she felt something prick her throat - a cold feeling diffused across her neck, and she fell backwards into someone's arms, her vision swimming. She tried to focus, to wake herself back up again - but it was no use, and she quickly fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

'You're from Mondas,' said the Doctor - it wasn't a question. 'The lost twin planet of Earth, home world of the Cybermen.'

'You've heard of it then,' said Carson - he seemed surprised.

'I was there,' said the Doctor. 'Years ago, back when the first Cybermen were created.'

'Ah, well that rather complicates things, I'm afraid.' Carson was frowning. 'It would have been so much easier if you were ignorant of these facts - you're far too clever for your own good, Doctor.'

He reached into jacket and produced a revolver - he pulled the hammer into place and aimed it at the Doctor's head.

'Now you'll come downstairs with me,' he said. 'If everything has gone to plan - we shall be just about ready to begin.'

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **I hope you're enjoying the story so far, please leave a review and follow!**


	3. Chapter 3

Clara's eyes opened slowly - she was lying flat on her back and there was a blinding light above her that made her cringe in pain. There was an incessant aching in her head and her throat was dry. She tried to sit up but found that she couldn't - her wrists and legs were bound at her sides with tight cords.

'Don't struggle,' a woman's voice spoke. 'If you do, I will be forced to sedate you again, and that would only delay things - it will be better for everyone if you simply submit.'

'Who are you?' Clara asked, trying to locate the direction the woman's voice was coming from.

'I am Ingrid, Carson's sister,' the woman replied, from somewhere on Clara's right. She turned her head towards the source of the voice and saw the woman standing just a few steps away, dressed in surgical scrubs and a medical face mask. The hair covering and mask obscured most of her features, but Clara still recognised her as a much older version of the woman in the picture on Carson's mantelpiece.

'But Carson told us you were dead,' said Clara. 'He told us he was the only one of his family left.'

'A necessary fiction,' Ingrid replied, checking over the various surgical tools waiting on the trolleys. 'Our plan hinged entirely on you and your companion being unaware of my presence in the house until the time was right.'

Something moved to Clara's left - she rolled her head over to look, and caught sight of the Cyberman, standing in the corner of the room and watching her. Its stare was relentless, and Clara found herself pulling at her restraints subconsciously.

'You should make no attempt to escape,' said Ingrid, noticing Clara's efforts. 'The recruit is programmed to carry out every command issued to it by my brother or I without question or hesitation. If you do attempt to release yourself, I shall order it to kill you.'

'The recruit?' Clara asked, deciding to drop her escape attempt for now. 'That's a Cyberman - why do you call it a recruit?'

'Because that's what the Cybermen are,' said Ingrid. 'Recruits to the cause - better than we could ever hope to be.'

'The Cybermen don't have a cause,' said Clara.

'Of course they have a cause,' said Ingrid. 'All living creatures do - for the Cybermen, that cause was to preserve Mondas and all its people by any means necessary, and to return us to the star we left behind so very long ago.'

Clara was about to fire back with another question - however, she didn't get the chance as the door to the operating theatre opened and the Doctor walked in, Carson at his back with a revolver.

'Is she prepared?' Carson asked his sister.

'We are ready to begin,' Ingrid replied.

'Ready to begin what?' Clara asked.

'Processing you, I imagine,' said the Doctor, glaring at the Cyberman in the corner of the room, 'Cutting out everything that makes you human and replacing it with logic and steel – making you into one of their faceless monsters.'

'Break it to me gently, why don't you,' Clara muttered. The Doctor didn't reply - instead, he was looking around the operating room, studying everything closely.

'This is all a bit ramshackle,' he said to Ingrid and Carson. 'Your facilities are a shadow of those on Mondas - how efficient is your processing, really? Where did you get the equipment from?'

'We repurposed some of the equipment from our ship. And our processing is effective enough so that the recruits obey our every command,' said Carson, gesturing towards the Cyberman. 'This one is slightly defective - he can't speak, but that's a blessing in itself. We think that he might be capable of some independent thought, but that's still overridden by our commands.'

'You mean that whoever's inside this suit is still self-aware?' The Doctor looked aghast.

'Yes, we think so - but we can't really be sure,' said Ingrid. 'But since we can override that when we need to, it doesn't really matter.'

'Doesn't matter?' The Doctor glared at Ingrid. 'Who is he? Who did you convert - one of your own family?'

'Heavens above, no! I was telling the truth when I said they'd all passed on. Do you really think we're so morally bereft that we would turn our own flesh and blood into one of these things?' Carson exclaimed. 'He was like you - a space farer drawn in by the nebula. His ship crashed here about five years ago now - utterly irreparable, sadly. He was trapped here just like us, so we decided that he might as well be of some use to us.'

'So you butchered him,' the Doctor corrected Carson. 'You strapped him to that table and cut out everything that made him who he was - and the worst part is that you left just enough of him behind to make this living hell even worse. Why are you doing this?'

'Because we have a mission, Doctor,' said Carson. 'All the people of Mondas did – we had to go out into the universe and locate our new planet, Mondas' lost twin. We knew it would still be out there somewhere, waiting for us. After we process Miss Oswald here into a Cyberman, you will take my sister and I to your ship, and you will bring us to the Earth.'

'Never,' the Doctor replied. 'I will not take you to the Earth, and I will stop you from hurting Clara.'

'Enough melodrama,' said Carson, jabbing the Doctor's chest and forcing him into a chair at the side of the room. 'Ingrid, begin processing Miss Oswald.'

'Stop - you won't harm a single hair on her head,' said the Doctor, making to stand up, but Carson pressed the revolver into his chest and fixed him with a venomous glare.

'If you attempt to interfere, I will have the recruit remove your limbs one by one, very slowly and very painfully.'

Ingrid lifted a syringe filled with a clear liquid - another sedative. Clara fought against her restraints, straining with all her might to get away from the needle as Ingrid loomed over her.

'Stop!' Clara shouted, jerking her arms and legs. The table began to shake, the trays attached to it rattling loudly. Carson turned to face her, obviously preparing some sort of reprimand. The revolver began to waver in mid-air.

The Doctor didn't waste a moment - he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew his sonic screwdriver. There was an oxygen cylinder on the other side of the room, surrounded by trolleys stacked with surgical materials - the Doctor aimed the screwdriver at the cylinder and switched it on. The screwdriver hummed briefly before the valve at the top of the cylinder exploded upwards with an almighty bang.

As Ingrid spun towards the cylinder in shock, the Doctor leapt up from the chair and tackled Carson, sending the elderly man toppling onto to the floor. The revolver clattered across the floor, coming to rest against the wall. Ingrid was already turning back to the Doctor - he pushed one of the trolleys towards her, heaving it with all the strength he could muster. The trolley collided with Ingrid, throwing her against the wall, where she collapsed to the ground, moaning in pain.

The Doctor quickly glanced at the Cyberman in the corner - it hadn't moved during the altercation, and was simply staring at him impassively.

'Nice work,' said Clara, seeming to relax for the first time. 'Cut it a bit fine, though.'

'Sorry, maybe I'll just let the gun-wielding maniac shoot me next time,' said the Doctor as he approached the surgical table. He quickly began to undo Clara's restraints, while keeping an eye on Carson and Ingrid, and their Cyberman. The pair were dazed, but recovering quickly. The Doctor undid the last restraint just as Carson got back onto his feet. He was rather unsteady - apparently the Doctor had dealt more damage than he'd intended to when he tackled Carson.

'Stay where you are,' the old man ordered, his shaking fists by his sides. 'You cannot leave - without you, my sister and I have no hope of survival.'

'I can't allow you to leave this world,' said the Doctor. 'I won't help you spread the Cybermen's scourge even more than you already have – they've hurt too many people.'

'You think that we wanted this?' Carson stabbed a finger towards his Cyberman. 'You think when I look at that thing, I don't feel the same repulsion that you do? The Cybermen were evil, but they were necessary, intrinsic parts of Mondas' survival!'

'No, they are cruel, unnecessary imitations of humanity,' said the Doctor. 'They were a means to an end - the poorest dregs of your society were twisted into this horror by those who sought only to save themselves. I thought that I'd put a stop to it all, rewritten Mondas into a better history - but people like you are the reason why the Cybermen are feared across the cosmos. If you think that I'm going to help you in any way, then you have severely underestimated me. Clara - run!'

The Doctor turned and made for the door, with Clara just ahead of him - together, they raced towards the stairs.

Carson exploded with rage - he rounded on the Cyberman, stabbing his finger repeatedly at the doorway. 'Get after them - kill both of them, as painfully as you can!'

The Cyberman began to march, the mechanical components in its legs hissing and clanking with each step. It went through the door, before turning in the direction of the stairs.

* * *

The Doctor sprinted across the entrance hall, sonic screwdriver extended before him - the lock disengaged, and the door swung open. He and Clara went through, before running down the steps and along the path towards the gate.

'This way!' the Doctor called, setting off onto the heath at a run. Clara followed, but not before snatching a look over her shoulder - the Cyberman was coming through the door and onto the steps. It might have been her imagination, but it seemed as though the Cyberman had developed a slight limp. It was still moving with an unnerving speed however, so she turned away and followed the Doctor.

Their journey across the heath was just as difficult as the one they had made just a few hours ago, although for different reasons - while the weather was somewhat calmer, the night was pitch dark, and there was only a faint light cast by the nebula to see by. But the Doctor seemed to be sure of their heading, so Clara simply followed him. She glanced over her shoulder on several occasions - the Cyberman was never far behind, and Clara had been right before, it now had a definite limp.

Finally, the TARDIS appeared ahead of them, its windows and signs shining brightly in the darkness. The Doctor's key was in his hand; he opened the door quickly before standing aside to let Clara enter first. She stopped on the threshold, looking back at the Cyberman one last time - by now, it's gait had degenerated to an uncoordinated stumbling, and it was careering from side to side uncontrollably. However, it remained fixated on the Doctor and Clara, its gaze never moving from them.

'What's happening to it?' Clara asked.

'Maybe it's breaking down,' said the Doctor. 'Or maybe it's original consciousness is resisting - it could be both. But Carson ordered it to kill us, and I think he was telling the truth when he said this Cyberman would obey his orders exactly. So, let's not wait around.'

He ushered Clara into the TARDIS before stepping through the door himself. A moment later, the ship's engines struck up and the little blue box in the middle of the heath dematerialised, its orchestral heaving fading swiftly into the night.

The Cyberman staggered to a halt and fell forward onto its knees - its eyes remained on the patch of grass where the TARDIS had stood just moments before. Its prey was gone; gone where it could not follow, so it's mission was unfulfillable. It attempted to calculate a new course of action, but each time it's new plan was overridden by Carson's directive to kill.

One by one, the flickering valves in its chest unit began to wink out, shutting down as the paradoxical thoughts raged in what was left of the Cyberman's broken mind, overloading its decrepit logic circuits. As the final light in the chest unit died, the Cyberman's body went slack, and it keeled onto its side. It lay still for a few moments before spasming violently - a gasping noise could be heard from behind the cloth mask, the Cyberman's body shaking in time with the noise. It clasped at its chest unit with hands encased in thick, skin-tight gloves, it's ungainly fingers finding metal and plastic in place of a real chest.

The gasping began to fade, the attempts at breathing becoming shorter and more laboured. The Cyberman tried and failed to draw a final breath into a pair of long-dead lungs, before finally falling still - as the logic systems relinquished their hold on the Cyberman's mind, its final thought was to wonder if it's masters would come searching for it when it failed to return to the house.

The wind surged across the heath, completely unconcerned with the silver-clad corpse lying in the tall grass.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **I hope you enjoyed this story, please leave a review! I'm not sure if I'll be posting any new stories up here for a while, so I would like to thank you all for reading this story, and thank you to all of those who have followed my stories over the last few years.**


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